Page 63 of The Bachelor Spy
“I know.” And she did know. Whatever Blake was hiding, it wasn’t malicious. “Just … promise me you won’t do anything stupidly heroic without backup.”
“I promise to be as un-stupidly heroic as possible.” Blake’s grin flashed briefly. “Though I make no guarantees.”
A sound from the house made them both turn—a door opening, voices carrying on the evening air.
“We should go in,” Blake said. “Before someone comes looking for us and overhears something they shouldn’t.”
Grace nodded. They turned back toward the house, parting ways at the grand staircase, and Grace took the stairs to her room to finish a letter to Frederick.
Tomorrow she’d visit Lady Moriah. Ask about the Crawfords. Gather information about old family scandals and possible treasures.
But she couldn’t fully stop attempting to work out what was really happening with Blake.
Because he might think he was protecting her by keeping secrets.
But she’d learned long ago that well-meaning people often withheld information in the name of protection—and that ignorance put her in far more danger than knowledge ever could. Her sister had done it. Her father. Even Frederick, when they were newly married.
She sat down at her desk and stared out the window, her hand moving to her stomach to feel the baby flutter.
“Your papa is off fighting a war,” she whispered. “And it appears your mama is about to investigate what might be several mysteries at once. Let’s hope we’re both careful enough to survive until he comes home.”
The baby kicked, as if in agreement.
Or possibly protest.
Grace chose to interpret it as encouragement.
After all, she’d solved mysteries while terrified, confused, and occasionally held at gunpoint.
Surely she could solve mysteries while pregnant too. It couldn’t be that much more complicated.
Could it?
Grace had just finished sealing her letter to Frederick when a door slammed open down the hallway, followed by Zhara’s voice calling, “Shams! Come back!”
Grace’s eyes pinched closed. Not again!
She shot up from the chair, almost losing her balance—still attempting to adjust to this new growing belly—and rushed toward the door. An orange blur streaked down the hall with Zahra in pursuit.
Last time, Shams had ended up in the dining room-turned-surgery and nearly taken out the visiting doctor and two semi-ambulatory soldiers. Grace had never been so grateful for having moved a few comfortable chairs in there. They’d caught Lieutenant Marks and Private Tibbs perfectly and prevented what could have been a catastrophic collision.
“I’m so sorry, Mama!” Zahra called behind her. “She pushed through the door when I opened it, and now—”
But Shams was already halfway down the corridor, moving with that particular feline determination that suggested she had a destination in mind. Toward the servants’ stairs.
It was becoming increasingly clear that putting any trust in a cat could be … catastrophic. She nearly snickered at her internal pun and, gathering her skirts, hurried after Zahra. They reached the servants’ staircase just in time to see Shams’ tail disappearing around the corner below.
“She’s heading for the lower floor,” Grace said, lifting her skirts higher. “Come on.”
They descended quickly, trying not to lose sight of the wretched animal. How could something so small move so impossibly fast?
The servants’ corridor on the ground floor was dimmer, lit only by a few wall sconces. Grace paused, listening for any telltale sounds.
A soft thump came from somewhere ahead. Near the linen closet.
“There!” Zahra whispered, pointing.
They crept forward, and Grace peered around the corner—
